I was doing some late-night reading a few days ago, perusing the latest edition of The Catholic Worker, the bi-monthly newspaper from New York City that still serves as an organ of the movement. A man named Trevor Brannigan contributed an article documenting his time at Peter Maurin Farm, located in Marlboro, NY (50 miles north of NYC). I enjoyed reading about squash, pureed watermelon, and canning. Then I got to his last paragraph:

This year at the farm we’ve had a saying that we aren’t going to make plans, we’re going to make space…Where we make space, and for what, and for whom is a never-ending question, but we contemplate it just the same.

I enjoyed thinking about hippie (or at least pseudo-hippie) organic farmers sitting around a fire sipping herbal tea and uttering such lines. It’s a kind of romanticized embrace of youthfulness, a going-where-the-wind-blows mentality because I have no real responsibility. It seems a silly sentiment to resonate with a middle-aged man with a big family, but it did resonate. It resonated because it speaks a fundamental truth. To be a Christian means I am no longer in charge of my life. It means my plans are truly the silly sentiments.

This year, rather than all sorts of plans and New Year’s resolutions, my plan is to make more space for God in my life. I plan to cut down on time on my phone which causes so much distraction and inattentiveness. I plan on more family time and deeper surrender of my deepest concerns. I’m going to make space and not a laundry list of my own plans. I’m going to make space and let God make the plans.